


3+1=

by Anonymous



Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Sex, Birth, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Lactation, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, Vaginal Sex, labor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	1. Good Morning Fuck You

Stan walked into the bedroom fully dressed and awake. He got up earlier than any of them to meditate and drink green tea. Kyle and Kenny were still in bed, splayed out in the space vacated by Stan and Cartman.

“Hey, wake up,” Stan said, bereft of his usual good-morning-attitude. He jostled Kyle and Kenny’s legs. “Come on.”

The two groaned. Kenny turned to blink at the sunny window; Kyle frowned up at Stan.

“What time is it?” Kyle asked.

“Fucking early,” Kenny huffed.

Stan glanced out the door; retching noises echoed down the hall. “It doesn’t matter. Cartman’s sick.”

Kyle sat up, his red curls sticking out all over. He sighed, patting his hair down futilely. “Again?”  
  
“This is the third time,” Stan said

“I’m surprised he’s not laid up demanding soup and sex.” Kenny said, standing up One of Cartman’s giant sweaters dropped to his mid-thigh like a nightgown. When he bent to scratch his foot Stan could see his naked ass and balls.

“The lack of exploitation is worrying,” Kyle said.

“He’s hiding something,” Kenny surmised.

“Do you think it’s serious?” Stan asked.

Kyle rolled his eyes, unafraid to confront Cartman head-on, and slid out of bed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“That’ll just make him mad,” Kenny warned. Kyle shot him a glare. “What? You know it’s true.”

“Well, he’s being an idiot.”

Stan interjected. “Listen.”

All three paused. The vomiting had stopped and now they could hear muffled crying.

“Oh, Jesus,” Kenny lamented.

Kyle resolutely strode to the bathroom, the other two following a few steps behind. He tried the doorknob, only to find it locked, then knocked sharply. “Cartman, open up. What’s going on?”

“N-nothing!” After a moment of sniffling Cartman’s voice took on its usual angry character. “Can’t a man have a moment’s peace to himself?”

Kyle crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, preparing for a long compromise. “You’re sick.”

“So?”

“Last month you only thought you had a cold, and stayed in bed for four days. Why are you hiding this?”

“I am not hiding anything, jew!”

“This is the third morning I’ve heard you,” Stan added.

“Well that’s some butt-fucking Buddha concentration you have, huh?” Cartman asked.

“I’ll kick the door down,” Kyle said.

“He will,” Stan warned.

Any further rebuttal was cut off by another bout of retching. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny all traded looks.

Kyle’s shoulders slouched. He touched the doorknob again. “Cartman, please.”

Cartman coughed wetly. “I want—Kenny,” he panted. “Fuck you guys.”

Kenny grinned, gliding past Stan and Kyle. “Hey, man,” he said at the door, “it’s me.”

The lock clicked and he slipped inside so Kyle and Stan saw nothing.

Kenny locked the door behind him, partly to piss off Kyle and Stan, and because it would appease Cartman—who was sitting in front of the toilet watery-eyed with Clyde Frog.

He’s a mess, Kenny thought.

“Hello, Grand Wizard,” Kenny said.

“Oh, Princess Kenny,” Cartman sighed. He flexed his hands in the green fuzzy rug Kyle bought when they first moved in. Sick, pale, and miserable, he smelled like sweat and puke.

Kenny wrinkled his nose, but sat on his knees and hugged Cartman anyway. “You’re really in for it this time, huh?” he asked, knowingly. Without saying anything, he saw everything, and had a trusted intuit. This was all kind of funny to him, and he knew it wasn’t bad. “I mean, you’re not dying.”

“No,” Cartman admitted.

“Then what’s the matter?” Kenny laid his head against Cartman’s shoulder and folded his knees into Cartman’s lap. The shirt of Cartman’s he was wearing rode up his legs and canted off his shoulder.

Cartman looked down at him and smouldered in snot, tears, and anxiety. Only then was Kenny struck with real alarm. But he played it cool and caressed the meat of Cartman’s red hot skin revealed by his droopy t-shirt collar. “You can whisper it to me if you want to.”

This was their code; Cartman couldn’t always talk but he felt emotions fluently. Abashed, he clutched Kenny’s hand and pressed it hard against his stomach under his shirt.

Frowning, Kenny looked into Cartman’s one-blue-one-green eyes, probing deeper into the fat.

Suddenly all the air was sucked out of the bathroom. Kenny sat up and over Cartman, unfolding his hand palm flat against the skin. “Oh,” he breathed, smiling as he tried best not to.

“Is that my shirt?” Cartman asked. With the truth ripped off like a bandaid, he could talk now. They spoke quietly, to deter Kyle and Stan’s listening.

“It’s comfy. Do I look good?”

“Yes. I’m cold. Give it back, bitch.”

“Okay.” Kenny slipped it over his head and handed it to Cartman.

Cartman ogled at his naked body before putting the sweater on. He scrubbed his eyes and mouth with the sleeve pulled over his hand. Kenny stretched, joints popping, curving into Cartman’s line of view so he’d look up from the floor.

“Do you feel sick anymore?”

“No,” Cartman muttered. “That was the last of it.”

Kenny rose to the sink and filled a Dixie cup with flat tap water. He handed this to Cartman and picked up Clyde Frog too. He unlocked the door and walked out to the hallway. Cartman flushed the toilet, rinsed his mouth, and spat behind him.

Stan and Kyle stood stock against the opposite wall as if they hadn’t just been against the door. Then they realized Kenny was naked and gave their own looks of incredulous suspicion.

“Cartman was cold,” Kenny shrugged. “It was his shirt. Would it help if I said I fucked him better?”

“We could try,” Stan said, clenching his fists with sudden determination.

“On second thought,” Kenny said, and grinned to himself.

Cartman rushed to the door after that. Kenny shuffled over; Cartman snatched Clyde Frog back from him. “Get him out of your slutty hands, Kinny!”

“Clyde Frog?” Stan asked in awe, staring at the stuffed animal.

Kyle stepped forward, lips pursed. “Are you okay?” he asked, demanding a level of authority despite his unruly bedhead and pajamas. “What’s going on?”

Cartman turned to Kyle stiffly, almost like a possessed windup doll, but did not answer. Kenny looked at Cartman with emphasis. Kyle glanced between them, mouth flattening as he grinded his teeth, angrier and more worried by the second.

“I’m going to go start breakfast,” Stan announced, catching eye contact with Kenny.

“I’m going to put on a robe,” Kenny said. He took Kyle’s hand. “Come help me.”

“Cartman, do you want hot chocolate?” Stan asked.

“Sure,” Cartman said. “And a fuckton of bacon.”

Stan began walking him downstairs. “Oh, we still have a lot of the pig from Ned and Jimbo.”

“It tastes so much better when you know it’s been properly killed and butchered,” Cartman was saying as Kenny tugged Kyle to the bedroom.

“You don’t need help with a robe,” Kyle accused as he shut the door, assuming this was a poorly timed sex thing.

Kenny opened an armoire in the corner. Kyle bought it for him at an antique show with his mom. From a drawer he pulled out a baby pink jacquard corset lined with ribbon and white lace. Kyle was not exactly wrong.

“It’ll cheer Stan and Cartman up, you know them,” Kenny said at Kyle’s look. Maybe he wanted to feel pretty. It also allowed Cartman time to cool down with Stan’s calming presence and affinity for hot drinks amidst the smell of bacon and flour.

Kyle was keyed up about the whole thing too and needed to vent. Kenny was a good listener.

“Eric needs to watch his cholesterol,” Kyle complained all of a sudden. Kenny held the corset against his chest as Kyle snapped it together in the back. “Stan feeds him a whole fucking pig for breakfast. That’s so gross; Jimbo just killed some farmer’s pig by mistake and bought it.”

“Shoot it with a bullet it, you buy it,” Kenny said. It sure wasn’t kosher.  
  
“Cartman bought that giant freezer just to keep all the meat. Now he’s picking up like, popsicles and Klondike bars.” Kyle began lacing the ribbon around, cinching Kenny’s waist as he went, sometimes grunting.

When they were done Kyle donned Kenny with the ratty orange robe he’d had since a brief stint at college. “He’s really okay, isn’t he?” Kyle asked.

They watched each other through the armoire mirror’s reflection. “I don’t know about right now,” Kenny answered truthfully, “but he will be.”

Kyle’s hands purposely brushed Kenny’s penis as he tied the robe sash. “Have you had sex with him at all the past week?”

“No,” Kenny said. He thought back to the last time they’d all four been together. Since then he’d given Stan a blowjob and fucked Kyle, but Cartman was either busy or tired or grumpy.

“I haven’t and neither has Stan,” Kyle said.

“So he’s your sex slave?”

“No! But...he’s in a mood. Last time he acted really out of it.”

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed.

“Cartman in a mood means I’ll be in a mood,” Kyle said with a determinedly pointed finger, “and I want to get to the bottom of it.”

Kenny’s heart warmed. “You put yourself in a mood.” He kissed Kyle’s cheek. “I’ll bet they’re ready by now.”

They went downstairs to the kitchen, where Stan was scrambling eggs and frying pancakes, his sleeves rolled up and black hair falling into his eyes. Cartman sat at the counter with a mug of hot chocolate, a can of whipped cream in hand. He seemed to have skipped topping off the mug and shot the stuff straight in his mouth.

Stan looked up from the food. Kyle sidled beside Cartman with the new issues of Time and the Economist; Stan had coffee at the ready, black with Splenda. Behind them, Kenny waved; Stan smiled boyishly. He caught a peek of pink underneath Kenny’s old robe.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Kenny said, swiping his cigarettes from the table.

Stan stared at the sliding door mournfully. Kyle set down his coffee and took Stan’s spot at the stove.

“Go get cancer I guess,” Kyle said.

“Roll your own tobacco,” Cartman advised, flicking through his magazine, “it’s cheaper.”

“Hi, Kenny,” Stan said as he stepped through the sliding door.

“Hi, Stan,” Kenny said, sitting in a lawnchair around their wet, unlit firepit.

Sometimes Stan felt walking through the house was like stepping between revolving TV sets. He sat down in the lawnchair beside Kenny’s. A table in between offered an ashtray, lighter, and Kenny’s pack of cigarettes. One was already burning. Kenny flicked it above the firepit. “Want one?” he asked, nodding to the pack. Stan would never do it without prompting, the excuse of peer pressure.

“Sure,” Stan said, and jabbed a cigarette between his lips, quickly lighting it. He exhaled smoke with a big sigh that raised and deflated his chest. It reminded him of being young in his depressive indulgences.

“Did Cartman talk to you?” Kenny asked.

“Yeah.” Stan coughed into his elbow. “I asked him if he needed to go to urgent care or something. He said he wasn’t in pain, just sick. I asked him if he knew what it is.”

“What did he say?”

Stan scoffed. “‘Inconclusive.’” He narrowed his eyes at Kenny. “Did he tell you?”

“No,” Kenny said. It wasn’t a lie. “I don’t think he’s sure yet. But I guessed correctly.”

“Is it bad or good?” Stan asked.

“Inconclusive,” Kenny lied.

“You’re such an ass!” Stan kicked his legs up and fell further back into the chair. His weight plus inertia sent him toppling up and over to the ground. He burnt himself on the forehead with his cigarette in the somersault, scraped his elbow against the firepit. Kenny laughed and laughed himself to death.

“Kenny?” Stan ventured. He paled considerably after clutching Kenny’s wrist and found no pulse. Kenny lay limp in the chair, cigarette forever unfinished between his fingers.

Stan stepped into the kitchen. “Kenny laughed himself to death.”

At the stove, Kyle flipped a row of bacon over. Grease sizzled up in his face. “What? That bastard!”

Cartman’s chair scraped against the tile as he stood.

“Where are you going?” Stan asked.

“Out,” Cartman snapped, throwing his unread Economist back onto the counter.

“What about breakfast?” Kyle demanded.

“I don’t care!”

The front door slammed shut, followed by ruthless silence. Stan and Kyle stared at each other, alone, Kenny dead and Cartman out.

“Then there were two,” Stan said.

“Oh, shut up,” Kyle moaned. He retrieved two huge platters. “Help me eat all this.” 

 


	2. DIY Shop Vac Abortion

Stan and Kyle ate all the bacon, eggs, and pancakes until their stomachs bulged and gurgled. Stan hiccuped and pushed his plate away. Kyle, maybe in homage to Cartman, gasped in a sharp breath and finished the rest of Stan’s food, as well as his own. Afterward Kyle dropped his knife with a clatter. He patted his tautly stretched navel and belched at a decibel even Cartman or Randy would be jealous of. 

“Dude,” Stan said. 

“That hurt,” Kyle winced. 

Stan wanted a cigarette. He looked out at Kenny’s corpse. Kyle followed his gaze, tuttering softly. 

“Kenny laughed himself to death?” he asked. “It’s not the worst.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, blissfully remembering the demure hint of jacquard under Kenny’s robe. “Too soon.” 

“Let’s go then.” Kyle heaved up from the table. Stan followed, a cramp lancing his side. They walked out the sliding door to Kenny’s body and stared down. Kyle leaned forward and undid Kenny’s robe. Underneath the baby pink ribbon lace overbust, Kenny had thrown on old gray boxers; they framed his skinny thighs nicely, tears and burnt holes lining up with white scars.

Stan swallowed, rubbing the underside of his stomach to hide the erection forming at Kenny’s dead body. 

“I know,” Kyle said glancing at Stan. “I helped put it on.” He went to the side of the house and returned with two shovels over his shoulders, pajamas bulging at the waist. 

Stan picked up Kenny’s body to deposit it in the untrimmed grass. He and Kyle then commenced on Kenny’s grave. They hacked a 2x6x3 ft rectangle underneath the crab apple tree. Identical spots of upended land gouged the backyard; these went unnoticed as Stan and Kyle began to sweat despite the cold. 

Red-hot blisters appeared on their palms and then they were done. They wrapped Kenny up in a bed sheet and both lowered him into the ground. By the time they were finished covering the grave their hands had frozen over, faces wind-chapped and sinuses clogged. 

Far away in another county off an unfamiliar interstate, Cartman currently ordered a strawberry milkshake, coffee, and four orders of biscuits and gravy. His inherited minivan idled noisily in the Laurel Jr’s drive thru. He turned to Butters in the passenger seat, whom he’d picked up mid getaway. “What do you want?” 

“Eric, we always get this,” Butters complained. “I want a Mcgriddle.” 

“Well, I’m sorry Butters but we’re already fucking here. If you had any objections you should’ve told me sooner.”

“Fine! Pancakes.” 

Butters’ got his pancakes quickly but they had to pull up and wait for all of Cartman’s biscuits and gravy. Cartman slurped on his shake in the meantime, sullenly staring out at the parking lot without speaking. Butters ripped his pancakes into strips and dunked them into syrup, trying to make small conversation. His attempts were met with a silent wall as Cartman started flipping through morning talk shows.

“What’s this all about?” Butters finally asked. He turned the radio off. “Eric, hey! You can’t just call and not say what’s wrong.” 

Cartman obnoxiously drained the last of his shake, ripped the straw out of his mouth and tossed the cup to the back of the van. “Do you want that coffee?” he asked. “I changed my mind, it’ll just give me the shits.” 

Slightly touched, Butters accepted the offer with a scrunched nose. “Indigestion problems?” he inferred. 

“Connected to a larger medical issue,” Cartman said. 

“You’re sick!” Butters gasped. 

“It’s a condition, not an illness.” 

“Now you’re just confusing me!” 

“Well, I’m confused too!” 

Suddenly a monotone voice droned. “Hey.” 

In uniform, Ike Broflovski stood at the open window, Cartman’s food in hand. His face shifted to surprise in recognition. 

“What the hell?” Cartman shouted. “You work here?” 

“I don’t like seeing people I know,” Ike glowered. “Did Kyle tell you? I’ll be talking to him.” 

“But he doesn’t even know we’re here,” Butters objected. 

“Shut up,” Cartman hissed, “don’t tell him that!” 

“What’s going on?” Ike lowered the bag of food, looking between Cartman and Butters. “Something’s going on.” 

Cartman reached out the window, snatched his breakfast, and turned the van back on. “Fuck you, Canadian!” 

Ike was forced to stumble back as he peeled into reverse, out of the parking lot. 

He felt like hopping back onto the interstate, but then Butters reminded him his food was getting cold. They ended up in a gravel lot of a public park surrounded by tall oaks, and sat at a table underneath falling leaves. Cartman slopped all of his biscuits and gravy into one plaster container, eating with abandon as Butters sipped his coffee. 

“You got quite the appetite,” Butters observed. 

“So?” 

“Is it related to your condition?” 

“No. It’s all you can eat on Sundays, and Kyle’s punk ass brother ruined it!”

Butters frowned. “I might just tell Kyle where we are right now if you don’t tell me what’s going on! Dragging me out here and I didn’t even get Mcgriddles—I’m pissed, Eric!” 

“Fine! Tell him, asshole: betray me!” 

“Oh, I won’t,” Butters sighed. “Bros before hoes. I won’t tell them anything.” 

“Anything?” 

Butters shook his head. “Nothin at all. So tell me!” 

“I’m pregnant,” Cartman confessed. The words felt strange as he said them, unreal. Lobbed out of his mouth before he could take them back. 

Butters stared. When Cartman remained silent, he realized it was serious and leant across the picnic table in earnest. “You gotta tell em.” 

“No way,” Cartman denied. 

“Whose is it?” Butters asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Aw, hamburgers, Eric.”

“Kenny figured it out, but he died.” 

“Jesus.” Butters slumped back into his seat. “Not Kenny.” 

They didn’t talk for a moment. Leaves drifted around. Cartman left his food alone. 

“I’m taking care of it,” he said. “No one has to know. But I need your help, Butters.” 

Rarely did Cartman ask for help, but now Butters wished he would’ve been left out of it. “Don’t you want to think about this?” 

“A kid is just a liability that will never go away.” 

“Eric, that’s sad.” 

“Isn’t it my choice?” 

“Is it what you want?” 

Cartman scoffed. He looked away to the trees. “Do I want a kid?” 

“Do you?” 

Cartman turned to the side and threw up. Once the second round of morning sickness abated, he laid his face down flat against the cool wood of the table. 

Butters got up to throw their trash away and cover the vomit with sticks and leaves. He touched Cartman’s shoulder when he was done. “I’ll drive,” he said. 

Cartman was too grumpy to care. He waited in the car as Butters went into a Walgreens, then returned with an ominous baggy. 

“What’s that?” he asked. 

“Sprite, Tums,” Butters said, handing Cartman the items, “other stuff.” He dropped the rest in between the two front seats. Cartman chewed three Tums and chugged Sprite to chase the taste of chalk out of his pukey mouth. He closed his eyes for the rest of the trip back to South Park. 

Butters woke him up with a chipper smile. Cartman groggily blinked awake, parked in front of an apartment complex in Shi Tpa Town. He shuffled after Butters to the second level. Behind door 4B lay Butters’ place. Basic furniture was decorated with random knick knacks. In the living room Cartman stood by the hamster cage as Butters set whatever he’d bought on the coffee table. 

“My evil little minion sure missed ya, buddy.” Butters stepped over to unlatch the cage door. 

“Penelope isn’t evil,” Cartman said, taking the rodent in his large hands. She looked small and shiny, covered in soft yellow fur.

“We’ll play in a little bit,” Butters cooed, and locked her back up. He passed a deceptively small box to Cartman. “Here, Eric.” 

Cartman looked down. A pregnancy test. 

“I didn’t know if you had one or not,” Butters said. 

“I didn’t.” 

“How’d you know then?” 

Cartman shrugged. He could not explain the bolt of realization which hit him one morning after a few days of being sick; a knowledge that something inside of him had changed. He went into Butters bathroom, peed, and waited. The test only confirmed what he already knew. A tide of rage rose in his chest. He locked it away in his throat, pocketed the test, and went back out to the living room. 

Seeing his barely held composition, Butters did not have to ask what the test read. Instead Cartman rolled Penelope back and forth across the carpet in her plastic ball, and Butters made cookies. Cartman only really relaxed until the oven dinged and Butters brought out the entire plate for him to eat. With a glass of milk he was officially sated, sprawled back on the couch. 

Butters tidied the dishes, then sat beside him, Penelope scurrying across the cushions in between. “What now?” Butters asked. 

Cartman closed his eyes, focusing on the hamster’s tiny feet poking into his arm. “Well, I’m not doing it in town.” 

Butters fidgeted with his fists. “Eric, I’ve been thinking. I can’t do this in good conscience to the boys without their knowing.” 

“The boys? They’re my hoes, Butters. And you’re supposed to be my bro! I thought you’d of all people understand exterminating some shit your hoes fucked up!” 

Butters glared like Cartman was being petulant. “But I communicate with all my girls.”

“Yeah, with some Stockholm Syndrome shit. Are you a pimp or a cult leader?” 

“I’m their man.”

Cartman snorted. “Butters, you aren’t a man.” 

“Yes I am. Ask any of my girls.” 

“I don’t know if I’d trust the credibility of a hooker.” 

“Your mom’s a hooker,” Butters said. “And a grandma. You can’t take either of those things away.” 

“Don’t make me beg,” Cartman said. 

“Do you want me to drive you home? Or I can call Kyle.” 

“Aw, Butters, come on.” 

“You can’t stay here,” Butters said, “this is a place of business. I am a professional.”

“A professional jack off,” Cartman snapped. He deposited the hamster, Penelope, onto Butters’ lap and stood. “Fuck you. I’m going home.” 

“Fine,” Butters shrugged. 

“Fine! I’ll deal with this myself! Like I always do!” 

“Okay,” Butters said. 

Cartman slammed the front door on his way out. Standing on the apartment complex balcony over Shi Tpa Town out of his on volition, he still felt as if Butters had pushed him out the door. Whatever; Butters was a prick and a pimp and a scoundrel. Cartman passed one of his girls still in her Raisins uniform out in the parking lot. 

“Ey, you,” he called. 

She paused to size him up, her sneer more pointed with shadowy makeup and red lips. “What? I’m off the clock.” 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

“It’s a personal favor.” 

“For who? Butters?” 

“What’s it to you?”

Cartman scowled. “Is Butters a man?” 

“Yeah. He makes his money and still treats us nice.” She took a threatening step forward. “Are you trying to say something? Fuck with him or something?” 

“No. It’s nothing. Forget it.” Cartman walked to his van. The girl stared after him all the way from the balcony. She didn’t go into Butters’ apartment until he left the lot. 

Soon Cartman pulled back up in front of his house. It was afternoon now. The meat of the day had been consumed. He wanted to take a nap and sleep off the digestion. But he couldn’t just yet. 

Kyle was waiting for him the moment he stepped inside.Probably heard the van. Cartman tossed his keys onto a useless table beside the door. It was only there to catch keys. He went through the motions of shucking his jacket, taking his wallet out of his pocket, undoing his shoes. All the while Kyle stared at him expectantly. 

“What the fuck is it?” Cartman demanded. 

Kyle crossed his arms. “Ike texted me. He said you’re having an affair with Butters.” 

“I wouldn’t touch Butters’ dick. It’s all slimy with his nasty hoe juices.” 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Kyle said, his demeanor softening with the confirmation of Cartman’s loyalty. “But why’d you have to drive all the way out there? With him?” Kyle swallowed. “Why not stay with us?” 

“I don’t know,” Cartman lied. 

“You can’t just tell us what’s wrong?” 

“Kenny knew.” 

“Kenny’s dead.”

“Well I’m taking care of it. So just forget it.” 

Kyle stepped forward, slanted his lips against Cartman’s. Suddenly, another pair of arms wrapped Cartman from behind. Muscular and scented with incense; it was Stan. Cartman pressed back against his barrel chest as Kyle kissed him harder. He’d been avoiding physical contact, feeling like a sock puppet manned by a parasite in his own body. He never knew how badly he needed this kind of thing until he had a dry spell. 

A hand moved lower, not in the direction Cartman preferred. Fingers slipped into his pocket, around the stupid pregnancy test Cartman couldn’t throw away. 

Cartman angrily pushed Kyle away and sat at the base of the stairs. Unoffended, Kyle implored Stan. “What is it?” 

Stan’s faced blanched and his hands shook. “Uh. Oh...” He blinked and looked up at Cartman. “Really?” 

Kyle huffed and took the test out of Stan’s hand. “What? A pregnancy test?” Kyle furrowed his brow. “Whose pregnant? One of Butters’ prostitutes or something?” 

“Uh, no, dude.” Kyle turned to Stan’s shaken voice, then looked back at Cartman. 

He gasped. “No way.” 

“I’m getting a Shop Vac, so don’t worry,” Cartman assured. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stan asked worriedly. “Like an abortion? Cartman, you can’t do that!”

Kyle slapped Stan up the head. “Shut up.” 

“I do what I want,” Cartman protested. But it sounded lackluster. He sighed. “I just want to go to bed.” 

Kyle nodded. He and Stan watched Cartman escape upstairs with resignation.


	3. Back At It Again

Cartman woke up alone, writhing in a cold sweat. When he opened his eyes he found his stomach had blown up to full term in his sleep. What the hell!

He moaned in pain, futilely grappling the sides of his nine month belly.

“God, you’re so big,” Kyle said.

Cartman looked between his legs and found Kyle fucking him slow and steady.

“We’re gonna put more babies in you,” Kyle said.

Stan and Kenny materialized and pressed their cocks in with Kyle’s.

Cartman screamed and thrashed wildly. His vulva was stretched to its maximum limit, three dicks stuffed inside. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny started moving in tandem. Their cocks sheathed in and out of Cartman obscenely wet and loud, lubricated by Cartman’s massive amounts of slick.

Their three heads shoved past Cartman’s cervix. He whined, toes curling, squeezing tight around the shared girth of his three friends, sucking them deeper inside. They came in unison, pumping Cartman full with three loads of cum, and continued fucking him after.

Cartman lazed back on the bed, dazedly rubbing his growing gut as the three boys continued cumming and cumming. Eventually his stomach hardened under his hands, and he felt more babies growing, all of them big and active, fighting for room.

Contractions began at Cartman’s navel and stretched around to his lower back. Despite this, he was still relentlessly fucked. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny got even faster, fucking him harder. Deep inside his cum-filled cervix, their three dicks popped the plug to his womb.

Waters gushed out, forcing the three boys to pull out. Cum and birth fluids poured out of Cartman’s wrecked vagina. He sobbed, curling around his undulating tummy, and pressed his thighs tight together. This did not mitigate the growing pressure crawling up his abdomen.

Kenny rotated Cartman onto his knees and fucked his face. Stan sunk back into his dilated pussy, while Kyle pushed into his neglected asshole. Stuffed in all holes, Cartman could only give up to the agony of labor. He swallowed copious amounts of Kenny’s cum, which distended his stomach further. Stan’s anal thrusts added to his stomach’s size and discomfort, while Kyle directly attacked his contracting womb.

The first baby head bowled into his birth canal. Every movement of Kyle’s forced it up backwards. Cartman felt his hips splitting apart. He screamed around Kenny’s cock and only got more cum down his torn throat. The babies started going nuts inside of him, kicking their legs and waving their arms. He felt like he was going to pop. His giant moving womb agitated his growing stomach and the rest of his organs were pushed aside. He couldn’t get breath through his nose any longer and felt himself suffocating around Kenny’s cock. By now his ass and pussy were numb, widened beyond imagination, leaking cum and blood and fluids.

Kyle, Stan and Kenny finally retreated and started directing Cartman to push. The baby was stuck behind a mass of cum. Its siblings started following, pressing against Cartman’s stoppered cervix. His pelvis was overloaded with multiple babies, all of them at least six pounds. His bones creaked as his stomach dropped further, bottoming out onto the bed like an anchor.

His spine almost snapped with the sudden weight. He careened with his stomach, limbs uselessly hovering over the massive orb, his head hung down to his chest.

The boys guided him onto his back, instructed him to hook his knees over his hands and hold them up on either side of his gargantuan gut. Now his vulva was on full display, stretched fat and red and wet. Finally the first baby was beginning to crown.

“Ahh—ah—uhnnnnnn!!!!!”

Cartman grit his teeth. A loud wail resounded around the room. He pushed again, his massive tummy turned upright by his folded legs. The first baby’s shoulders slipped out. Another push and it was birthed entirely. Cartman felt the tug from the umbilical cord as it cried.

He only had a moment’s respite before the next baby followed its sibling down.

—

“I CAN’T! STOP IT!”

At Cartman’s loud exclamation, Kyle looked up from the TV—streaming Real Housewives—and into Stan’s eyes, who’d been halfheartedly pruning a bonsai tree. They both jogged upstairs.

When they opened the bedroom door Cartman was sobbing on his side, arms wrapped over his stomach, the sheets tangled around his legs. Stan froze in the doorway as Kyle came to Cartman’s bedside.

“Jesus Christ! What is it?” Kyle demanded. “Does it hurt? Are you okay? Eric!”

“Leave me alone,” Cartman shouted, slapping Kyle away as he sat up, “I took a bunch of misoprostol, asshole!”

A chill ran down Stan’s spine at the thought of Cartman wracked with pain, blood on the sheets beneath him. “No you didn’t, don’t say that.”

Kyle glared at Cartman for several moments. Stan expected him to yell or leave the room. Instead he started crying.

“Ey, Jewboy,” Cartman said, “stop it! Stop! It was just a bad dream—”

“If you really want to have an abortion just tell us,” Kyle said as he wiped away tears. “Forget Stan, okay? Just—what is it you want, Cartman?”

“I don’t know!”

Cartman’s admission rang across the room. He covered his face with his hands.

Kyle wiped his nose on his shoulder and sat on the end of their bed. He patted his lap. “C’mere, fatass. Do I have to suck your balls?”

Cartman laughed, lowered his hands. “I dunno,” he replied, but put his feet up on Kyle’s thighs. “God, you and your foot fetish.”

“It’s gonna come in handy, right?” Kyle asked, digging his thumbs into the arch of Cartman’s left foot. “Your feet will be swelling pretty soon.”

“Shut up, I’ll kick you—ohhhh...”

Stan had enough. He walked to the bed, got on his knees, and took Cartman’s hands. Kyle watched, holding Cartman’s foot still. Cartman narrowed his eyes, but squeezed Stan’s fingers anyway.

“Eric,” Stan began in his serious, somber and sincere puppy dog voice, “is there any chance of you keeping this baby? You can’t tell us you’re pregnant but not tell us what you’re going to do. It’s our kid too!”

“I don’t even know whose it is,” Cartman said.

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Still gonna be a Jew either way,” Kyle supplemented.

“What if I want to keep it?” Cartman asked.

Stan’s face lit up in a smile. “Great! Yes!”

Kyle tugged Cartman’s ankle, bidding him to turn. “It’d be fine. You have all of us, and Butters and your mom. I remember when Ike was a baby, and Kenny literally raised Karen himself.”

“I know all that,” Cartman huffed. “Just—ugh, nevermind.”

“No, what?” Stan asked.

“I’ll be the problem,” he said. “I mean, really! How am I in any capacity ready to have a kid?”

Kyle blinked. “Well...”

“See!”

“It’ll be fine,” Stan said.

“Stop saying that!”

“Look—” Stan took Cartman’s shoulders, shook him roughly. “You don’t want anybody to know, but you’re a good man—proud man. It’s your pedigree, right? How could you waste it?”

Cartman sighed, considering. “Tainted with Jew blood as it is...Ow!”

Kyle pinched his ankle. “That’s like a 30% chance.”

“The odds are in my favor,” Cartman conceded.

“They really are,” Stan insisted, and kissed Cartman’s knuckles.

At that moment, someone came running into the room.

“Kenny?” Kyle gasped. “What’s going on?”

Kenny stood in the middle of the rooms, hands on his knees. He was in no robe or jacquard corset. Instead he wore his usual parka ensemble. Once he recovered his breath he straightened and pushed his hood down.

“That baby...is the Antichrist.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for longest wait ever. heres some porn and plot. special thanks to carimus' recent imploring comment who reminded me people are still interested. this ones on you bud


End file.
